Page 80 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

The horse accepted the carrot with delicate enthusiasm.

“Was she rescued as well?”

George nodded. “She spent several years pulling a heavily laden carriage through London. By the time she came into my possession, she was badly underfed, her shoulders were covered in sores, and she had suffered repeated injuries from the whip.”

Cordelia stared at the mare, her throat tightening. “How could anyone treat such a beautiful creature so cruelly?”

“Because she was regarded as a means of earning money rather than a living creature capable of suffering.” His voice was quiet, but she heard the chilling anger beneath it. “She could no longer work at the pace her owner demanded, and he intended to dispose of her. Fortunately, one of my men learned of her circumstances before that happened.”

Cordelia reached out and stroked the mare's neck, and Duchess leaned into her touch. “She is so gentle.”

“She is, though it took several months before she would allow anyone to approach without flinching.”

The thought of this lovely animal shrinking from a human hand was almost unbearable. “Does she still work?”

“No. She has earned her retirement.”

Cordelia turned toward him. “You mean she shall spend the rest of her days here?”

“If she wishes to remain.”

A smile trembled upon her lips. “And where else should she wish to go?”

George's expression softened. “Precisely.”

They continued along the path, and he introduced her to several more horses, each with a history that left Cordelia alternately horrified and deeply moved. One had been rescued from a quarry where it had been forced to haul loads far beyond its strength. Another had been found abandoned beside a road after collapsing beneath an overloaded wagon. There was even a small donkey named Button, who had once pulled a cart through the streets of London until his legs could scarcely bear him.

Button greeted George with an indignant bray, and Cordelia laughed despite the tears gathering in her eyes. “He sounds as though he has a great many complaints.”

“He generally does.”

“Perhaps he is displeased that you have not brought him a carrot.”

“An entirely reasonable grievance.” George produced another treat from his pocket, and Button accepted it with great satisfaction.

Cordelia regarded him with growing affection. “You have come prepared to be adored by every creature upon this estate.”

“A gentleman must employ whatever advantages are available to him.”

She laughed, and he smiled at her in that warm, intimate fashion that made her heart behave most improperly. They walked farther, toward the broad enclosure she had noticed from her bedroom window. The bulls were even more magnificent at close quarters. Cordelia paused before the fence, gazing at the enormous creatures grazing peacefully beyond it. One was a massive reddish-brown animal with powerful shoulders and a broad head. Another, black and white, stood beneath a tree, flicking its tail lazily at the flies. “Are they yours as well?”

“They are.”

“What happened to them?” she asked softly, almost afraid to know.

George’s expression grew grave. “Have you ever heard of bull-baiting?”

Cordelia frowned. “No.”

He rested one hand upon the fence. “The bull is tethered to a post, often by a rope attached to a ring through its nose. Dogs are then set upon it, encouraged to seize its muzzle or throat while spectators wager upon the outcome.”

She stared at him in horror. “But the bull cannot escape.”

“No.”

“And the dogs?”

“Many are terribly injured. Some are killed.”